No Other Highlander

by Adrienne Basso

  Yet all she heard was silence. For a moment the maelstrom of her emotions made everything spin around her. He wasn’t indifferent to her; she knew that he cared for her, even had some affection for her beyond his physical desire.

  Joan set her hand on his cheek and Malcolm turned his face into her palm. I shall make him love me!

  “Why do ye look so sad?”

  Joan shook her head with a wistful smile. “’Tis nothing.” Her eyes suddenly blurred and she blinked rapidly to clear them.

  “Foolish woman.” He pressed his lips to her moist cheek. “Ye must know that I return yer love. With every part of me, with every breath I take, I know that I shall love and honor ye all the days of my life and beyond.”

  He loves me! Her world tilted beneath her. Joan slid her hand to the back of his neck and brought her mouth to his, pressing herself into his embrace. It seemed impossible that she had been so fortunate to win the one thing she prized above all else, the one thing she never knew she craved and needed so desperately.

  “Are ye certain?” she asked.

  He reached for her hand, pressing it against his chest. “Ye hold my heart, Joan. In truth, ye are the other half of me.”

  His eyes swept over her face and she marveled at how she could feel the full force of his love shining from his eyes.

  “Come, let’s sneak away and leave Lileas to her weeding,” Malcolm said, his voice husky with passion.

  Joan bit her lip. The desire in his eyes started a flame deep within her. She imagined him sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to their bedchamber, then slowly stripping off her clothes, his hands and mouth ravaging her body with exquisite skill. The image caused her to shiver as if with fever and the urgency of her need climbed.

  “If I dinnae supervise Lileas, she’ll pull out the vegetable shoots as well as the weeds,” Joan said thickly. “There will be nothing salvageable left. Cook will be very upset.”

  Malcolm’s head lowered until his lips were pressed against the exposed flesh above the square-cut bodice of her gown. “I’ll replant all the vegetables and herbs and anything else Lileas destroys.”

  “’Tis wasteful.” Joan arched upward.

  “We have more than enough seed. And I enjoy planting seeds, do I not, wife?”

  His lips moved slowly, torturously to the valley between her breasts, leaving a streak of fire along her sensitive flesh. Joan could feel her nipples rise and harden as a tingling pleasure rippled through her. She swayed forward, biting her lip again to stifle a moan.

  The air around them seemed to thicken. Malcolm caught her wrist and drew it down, pressing it between his thighs. Joan grasped his manhood firmly, feeling the length of his arousal. She moved her hand up and down; his penis stiffened and grew harder.

  Their eyes met and held and Joan could see the intense desire she felt mirrored in the depths of his eyes.

  “Lileas?” Joan croaked.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Have ye learned that ye must listen to the adults and do as ye are told?”

  “Aye.”

  “And do ye promise not to go near the sheep or the chickens or the pigs unless ye’ve asked permission?”

  “Aye.”

  “Good. Then ye may go.”

  “And take Callum with ye,” Malcolm added in a husky voice.

  “Can we go riding, Papa? My pony misses me.”

  Lileas’s voice was very near. Joan jerked her hand away, fearing the child might have seen her lewd action, but Malcolm’s body shielded her from view. He cleared his throat and turned his head, looking over his shoulder.

  “I’ll take ye riding later,” he said hoarsely.

  “When?”

  “Later,” Malcolm repeated sternly. “Now, run along. Cook was baking honey cakes earlier. Go to the kitchen with Callum and politely ask fer one.”

  “Can Prince come, too? He loves honey cakes.”

  “Aye, bring Prince,” Malcolm replied in a strained voice.

  Mindful of her young audience, Joan held herself away from Malcolm until the children and Prince had disappeared from view. When they were finally alone, she wound her arms around his neck.

  Malcolm lowered his head. His clever lips kissed her so thoroughly a frisson of heat shuddered up from her belly. Joan’s entire being seemed to strain toward him, giving in wholly to the fierce, aching desire that threatened to consume her. There was no other man who could arouse her to such heights, could bring such fire and passion to her soul.

  Malcolm. Only Malcolm. And he loves me!

  “My knees are so weak I can barely stand,” Joan marveled.

  “Och, so if I am to have my wicked way with ye, lass, then I’ll have to carry ye to our bedchamber,” Malcolm growled in her ear.

  “I dinnae think I can wait that long,” she admitted breathlessly.

  Malcolm swore, then placed his hands on her waist and lifted her. “Straddle me,” he commanded.

  Joan’s eyes widened. “The children?”

  “Are gone,” Malcolm replied.

  “But someone could happen by at any moment.”

  “Then we’d best hurry.”

  With an impatient groan, Malcolm pushed the fabric of her gown up to her thighs. Shivers raced through her as he caressed her most sensitive flesh with the tip of his finger. She could feel the moisture weeping from her body, eager for his possession.

  Malcolm shifted, releasing himself from his braies. Soon, there was no barrier of fabric separating them. Joan’s blood roared in her ears, her breathing coming hard and labored.

  She did as he commanded and placed herself on his lap, her legs dangling on either side of his. Malcolm slid her gown from her shoulders, the soft fabric pooling at her waist. With a sensual growl, he tore away her chemise, baring her upper body. She shuddered as the cool air washed over her skin.

  “By the saints ye are the most beautiful woman on earth.”

  “And I belong to ye.”

  He circled around her peaked nipples with lazy strokes of his tongue until the heat gathering in her body turned to a throbbing need. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself up.

  “Guide me inside,” he moaned.

  Joan gasped as he parted her swollen flesh, placing himself at her entrance. Slowly, she moved her hips in a measured, sensual cadence, taking him deep into her moist warmth. Malcolm groaned and grabbed her buttocks, digging into her flesh. She held fast to his shoulders and increased the speed, glorying in the tandem rhythm they created.

  Overwhelmed by the rising pleasure and the intensity of the emotions that followed, Joan clung to Malcolm as the pulsing heat of her release began. Her breath came in quick, shallow pants; her body shuddered and clenched around his.

  He thrust faster and harder, coaxing her to blissful heights, then with a cry of pure male satisfaction, spilled his seed deep within her. Still trembling, Joan slumped against him. Malcolm tightened his hold around her waist to keep her from falling and she allowed herself to remain boneless.

  After a few minutes, Joan reluctantly roused herself. Malcolm moved to lift her off his lap, but she stayed his hand. “Wait,” she said softly. “I wish to savor the feelings a bit longer.”

  “God’s teeth, Joan, ye are a wanton lass.”

  “’Tis all yer fault,” she purred, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “Ye made me this way.”

  “We are well suited,” he said, nipping at the side of her neck.

  “Aye,” she replied, hardly believing she spoke the truth.

  The passion she had long feared flowed naturally between them, but it was the aftermath that soothed her fragile soul. Being near Malcolm was all Joan needed for the contentment of her body and spirit.

  How had that occurred? There was so much she didn’t understand about her feelings for him, but it didn’t matter. She savored them, believing in their power, realizing that somehow they made her stronger.

  The sound of voices brought them both back to reality.
Reluctantly, Joan moved off Malcolm’s lap. He helped her lace her chemise and gown, she retrieved his braies, brushing off the dirt before handing them to him.

  Smiling like a mischievous pair of youths, they righted their clothing and returned to the bench, sitting close enough so their thighs were touching.

  “There was a reason I sought yer company this afternoon,” Malcolm said.

  “Aye, a glorious reason.” She bit him playfully on the jaw.

  He laughed. “Nay, another reason. Mother received a letter from Katherine today.”

  Sobering, Joan pulled herself away. “Is all well?”

  “Aye. She will return home soon.”

  “Yer mother and I both miss her very much and are anxious to see her.” Joan plucked a piece of twig from her gown and tried smoothing away the worst of the wrinkles, realizing how truly disheveled she must look. “What news of Brienne and Alec?”

  “Alec’s head still rests upon his shoulders. Fer now. When he arrived at the MacPhearson Keep, he spent the first three days and nights in the pillory. Katherine writes it rained much of that time, but certain clan members, especially the women, verbally expressed their displeasure of his treatment of Brienne with vigor—and rotten vegetables.”

  Joan winced. Prolonged exposure to the elements often resulted in serious illness and even death for those sentenced to the pillory. “Three days is a harsh punishment.”

  “Aye, but it hasn’t broken Alec’s spirit. He is determined to redeem himself and gain Laird MacPhearson’s permission to marry Brienne. To atone fer his past sins, Alec toils in the fields with the farmers in the early morning, hunts fer food with the retainers in the afternoon, and practices with the soldiers before the evening meal.”

  Joan sniffed. “It sounds exhausting.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “Alec has much to prove, to both the laird and Brienne.”

  “Does she welcome his suit?”

  “Alec has little time to woo her, but Katherine believes Brienne’s anger has faded enough that she is starting to forgive him. He is devoted to Liam, which pleases her greatly.”

  Malcolm was quiet for a moment before continuing. “There’s other news. About yer father.”

  Joan’s heart skipped. “Has he fallen ill?”

  “Nay. According to Katherine, he has taken a new wife.”

  Joan went very still. “Agnes?”

  “Aye.”

  “How does Katherine know?”

  “In exchange fer an evening’s performance, a troupe of minstrels sought shelter with the MacPhearsons,” Malcolm replied. “They had recently come from Armstrong Castle, where they had been hired to perform at yer father’s wedding celebration.”

  “Minstrels? My goodness. It appears that he spared no expense. Agnes must have been preening like a peacock.”

  “They said the feasting lasted two days.”

  A strong wave of thoughts jumbled through Joan’s mind, mixing and mingling with confused feelings. She was not entirely surprised to hear that her father had married Agnes. Not surprised either that he had not taken the time to write and tell her the news himself.

  Or send a messenger.

  Joan swallowed. “When did they wed?”

  “At least a fortnight ago.”

  Her father and Agnes—a fitting pair. May they both wallow in their shared misery together.

  Joan sighed. ’Twas an uncharitable thought and she swiftly made the sign of the cross in repentance.

  “Are ye very disappointed?” Malcolm asked with concern.

  “That Agnes is my new mother?” Joan blew out a loud breath, then broke into a grin. “Och, I shall take great delight in addressing her as such. If we ever see them again.”

  Malcolm took her hand and stroked it gently. “I know ye harbored great hopes that one day Callum might lead the Armstrong clan as their laird. But if Agnes has a son, her child will be the next laird.”

  It took a moment for Joan to comprehend the words, to accept the situation. Yet upon reflection, she was shocked to realize that it no longer mattered.

  “Callum is a McKenna, just as I am,” she said. “I have no worries fer his future. With ye to guide him, he shall find a place in this world that honors his name and makes his family proud. Of that I have no doubt.”

  “I love ye, Joan.”

  “And I love ye, Malcolm.” She laughed, feeling a lightness deep within her soul. “Now take me to our bedchamber and prove it.”

  * * *

  One month later Malcolm lumbered from the practice field, his arms and legs tired, his shoulder sore, his mood buoyant. His squire had bested all the other lads this afternoon, even those who were older and bigger in size. This feat was a credit to the training that Malcolm had tirelessly provided and he allowed himself a moment to bask in the feeling of pride and accomplishment.

  In but a few years Callum would be old enough to start learning the skills of a warrior and Malcolm looked forward to teaching him. Naturally, Lileas would want to be included, and he wondered how the McKenna would react to having a lass being taught to wield a sword and use a dirk.

  No matter what his father’s reaction, Malcolm intended to teach his daughter, and Joan had agreed, insisting that all women should have the ability to defend themselves. Their smaller stature and size naturally put females at a physical disadvantage, but Malcolm’s squire had proven there were ways to compensate and overcome it.

  He turned past the stables and spied Joan walking with his mother and sister. Each was carrying lengths of fabric in their arms and he surmised they were heading to the chapel with the newly embroidered cloths for the altar.

  His mother was very particular about her sewing and Joan had been excited when she was asked to help with this important undertaking. They had spent hours together deciding on the design, selecting the colors, and sharing in the work.

  Joan had stayed up late for several nights, plying her needle by candlelight, determined to finish her section of the piece. Her efforts to please his mother had succeeded and the harmony between these two strong-willed women boded well for the future happiness of all the McKennas.

  Feeling like an infatuated lad, Malcolm changed direction and followed his wife, waiting patiently on the chapel steps for the women to reemerge.

  “Goodness, Malcolm, ye smell ripe.” Lady Aileen waved her hand delicately in front of her nose. “I thought ye were on the practice field, not mucking about in the stables.”

  “I beg yer forgiveness, Mother. ’Twas a very rigorous afternoon. I was training several of the squires and we used the lower pasture.”

  “Where they graze the sheep?”

  “Aye.” He grinned wolfishly at Joan. “Apparently, I am in need of a bath. Will ye assist me, my love?”

  Eyes wide, Joan nervously glanced at his mother. “There’s plenty of water in the loch,” she replied primly.

  “It’s freezing,” he whined, sounding so much like Lileas they all laughed.

  “The servants are too busy preparing fer our guests to spare the time to heat and haul water fer yer bath,” Lady Aileen said. “Ye’ll just have to freeze in the loch.”

  At the mention of guests, Katherine lowered her eyes and blushed. The Drummond and Fergusson clans were due to arrive within the week and the McKenna had made no secret of his interest in making a marriage alliance with either of these powerful clans.

  Yet they all knew that the final decision on a bridegroom would rest with Katherine, thanks to their mother’s insistence that her daughter be given the right to choose her own husband. ’Twas a promise that had the power to set the McKenna’s teeth on edge, yet he had no choice but to honor it, since he had made that vow to his wife.

  Malcolm could only hope that his sister would be as fortunate in her marriage as he and his brother, James, were in theirs.

  Later that night, Malcolm was in a playful mood while he waited for Joan to join him in their bed. The moment she did, he rolled her over on her back, raised himself above her
, and looked deeply into her eyes. “Fie, my love, yer beauty outshines the stars in the heavens.”

  Joan cocked an eyebrow. “I’m already in yer bed. Naked. Willing. Nay, eager. Ye’ve no need to shower me with pretty words.”

  “I like flattering my wife.”

  “Hmm.” She wrapped her leg around his waist, pressing her heat close to him. “Just make certain that I’m the only woman ye favor with yer silver tongue.”

  “Are ye jealous?” he asked, secretly delighted at the thought.

  “Nay,” she replied, touching her hand to his cheek. “I know that ye would never betray yer vows to me. In thoughts or deeds.”

  Malcolm swallowed hard, humbled by her trust. She was a woman who could match wits with him as an equal and fire his blood like a courtesan. There were times he was astonished at his sense of fulfillment, hardly believing that he had been so lucky to win her love.

  They belonged to each other for however long fate would allow. Holding Joan close, he knew that he had achieved his dream to marry a woman of spirit and courage. Their life together would never be dull or tepid, staid or ordinary, and that was exactly what he had always wanted.

  He had earned Joan’s trust and love and together they held what Malcolm desired most—the promise of tomorrow.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  The great hall was slowly filling with hungry clan members gathering for the evening meal. The hum of pleasant conversation hovered in the room, mingling with the greetings Joan spoke as she walked among them.

  The embers of the banked fire glowed while servants scuttled about, bringing out platters of hot food. One of the serving girls hurried past Joan with a tray of freshly baked bread, and Joan’s stomach suddenly rebelled at the thick smell of hot yeast.

  She turned and raced to the door, her breath coming in short, steady pants. She burst into the bailey, slumping against the wall as her belly rolled and pitched. Streaks of light from the setting sun painted the sky a brilliant mix of gold, orange, and red, and the brisk winds of late autumn howled around her.